A half-eaten round of La Turcheese, an Italian double-cream with a bloomy rind, sat on a platter with a dozen or so rice crackers.
Being a social climber was more of a time burglar than having a ghost twin sister.
He'd have to look up, have to look— A stone plapped into a greasy puddle not two feet away.
If you are an elfist, one who believes in elves, you have to show me that they exist. The burden of proof lies on the one who makes the positive claim.
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